


At First Sight

by irisbleufic



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Homecoming, M/M, Recovery, Slice of Life, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The importance of little things can take a good while to sink in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in September of 2008.

It took Sergeant Nicholas Angel a good ten seconds to process this piece of information: a _sure_ sign that he must be slipping. Either that or the country air and the vaguely Twilight-Zone feel of the place had gone more to his head than he'd care to admit. The drunk—PC Butterman, affectionately known as _Danny_ —trailed along after Nicholas and his father on the station tour, placidly eating his chocolate cake.

Nicholas made a mental note to ask about _that_ first, although the hedgehog would also need explaining. Danny—no use in thinking of him as PC Butterman—waved at it.

"He likes crisps," he whispered to Nicholas as they passed, so as not to scare the creature.

"Ah," said Nicholas, politely, so as not to offend him.

In spite of the fact that he should have been paying attention to the words jovially tumbling out of Inspector Butterman's mouth, Nicholas couldn't help but steal just as many glances at Danny as Danny was stealing at him. There was something agreeable about the young man now, at least, that he was sober and in uniform. So _that's_ what the man on the desk had meant about the drunk being back in the morning.

 _Danny_ , Nicholas reminded himself. And then, more sternly, _PC Butterman_.

"Yes, sir. Why is everyone eating chocolate cake?" he blurted, catching Inspector Butterman's question just in time. He couldn't even recall how he'd got to be sitting down. Danny was standing behind him, chewing, as if to illustrate Nicholas's point.

The bit about it being punishment, Nicholas could scarcely comprehend, although Danny seemed embarrassed enough. Funny, then, that he should be so keen on eating the stuff. Nicholas was guiltily tempted to ask for some ice cream, as Chunky Monkey was one of his favorites, but he tactfully kept his mouth shut. _Time and place_.

As if to console him, Danny gave him a brief pat on the back.

Nicholas resisted the impulse to reach up and clap the back of his hand. It was too soon for that kind of familiarity, however well-meant Danny's gesture.

Still, he supposed he could turn and spare a reluctant smile.

*****

Danny lingered even after the others had gone, watching Sergeant Angel balefully sip his cranberry juice. He wondered what Angel saw in it. Surely not his reflection. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who cared to look at himself any more than he had to.

"I'm sorry to hear you got stabbed an' all," he began awkwardly. "How'd it happen, if you don't mind my asking?"

Angel shrugged. "The particulars are hardly worth repeating. The perpetrator was a fraudulent charity representative dressed as Father Christmas."

"No way," said Danny, admiringly. "I bet you took him by surprise."

"Hence the stabbing."

"Right."

There was a moment of abashed silence, punctuated only by the tapping of Angel's fingers against his glass. Danny finished off his pint, wiping his mouth self-consciously.

"Listen, d'you need a lift home or anything?" he asked.

Angel's expression was jammed somewhere between confused and grateful. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I'm staying a very short walk from here."

"In the hotel? What for? I heard they'd got you a nice cottage and everything."

"It's not ready yet." Angel sounded even more dejected than he looked.

Impuslively, Danny reached across the table and patted him on the arm. "Cheer up, hey? You can come over to mine any time you like."

"Thanks, Danny," said Angel, wearily. "That's kind of you."

"What d'you prefer to be called, anyway?"

Angel blinked as if he hadn't been expecting that. "On the job, it's Sergeant Angel. But otherwise, I suppose it's just Nicholas."

"Anybody ever call you Nick?"

"Yes, but not here."

"Do you mind it?"

"No."

"Then maybe I will," Danny said. "When I remember to, anyway."

Nicholas flashed him a smile that was bigger than the one he'd given him back at the station, and somehow less sad. Danny decided that if he could get him to do that at least once a day, he'd have the poor bloke cheered up in no time.

*****

"Wait, you _really_ thought Mr. Staker was having you on?" Danny asked, incredulously, starting to huff a bit. "Damn, that bird's _fast_."

"I had at least half a dozen nearly identical calls per day back in London," Nicholas sighed, scanning the field for flashes of white. "Only they didn't usually involve swans."

"What did they involve?" asked Danny, innocently. Nicholas envied him the propensity.

"Oh, take your pick: piss-take theft reports, pointless rambling stories in fake Welsh accents, the run-away refrigerator classic. I almost wish we'd get a few of those around _here_ , come to think of it. Variety is, as they say, the spice of life."

"Then how about a bit of variety that's not watering your lily. Won't you come over?"

Nicholas sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. There was nothing for miles but gently waving green backed by a sky so blue that Nicholas could, given some time off and the ability to relax, lose himself in it. Danny's earnest, eager charm was growing on him, and he wasn't sure if that was a positive development or a potential distraction.

"I'll think about it," Nicholas said, finally turning to face him. "How's that?"

" _Yeah_ ," Danny said, grinning ear to ear. "Now you're talking!"

Something white and mobile flashed in Nicholas's peripheral vision, squawking.

"Swan!" he shouted, and the chase was on again. Danny was never far behind.

*****

It was one of those moments where time seemed to stop and, while the other person was staring at you helplessly, a thousand different options scrolled behind your eyes in slow motion. It was like a movie, only worse, because you knew it was _real_. And if you didn't choose wisely, oh _boy_. You were in trouble.

Danny supposed that not being able to switch off was a common enough problem in serious types like Nicholas, but not knowing how at _all_? Highly bizarre, he reckoned. He'd suggest yet _another_ beer, but given how many pints they'd each had, there was no more progress likely to be made on _that_ front. If this was Nicholas pissed, well, then this was Nicholas pissed and there wasn't a damn thing that Danny could do to loosen him up.

Or _was_ there?

Nicholas had a way of looking far more helpless than he'd ever actually be. Danny was sure that he had no idea—and, if he had, he'd probably lock himself up overnight on account. As fleeting as the look invariably was, it never _once_ failed to make Danny wish he was the perfect action hero, the one with all the distracting toys and the perfect answers besides. However, Nicholas didn't seem to go in for needless violence. Policing was an odd line of work for him to be in, especially given where he'd started out. No matter how many times Danny heard the story, he couldn't quite parse it.

One of the things scrolling behind Danny's eyes at that moment was what might happen if he were to lean over and give Nicholas a hug. He'd been wanting to do that for quite some time, although he'd refrained from it, because Nicholas tended to bat his hand away even if he was doing something as innocuous as brushing some lint off his vest.

One of the _other_ things scrolling past was what might happen if he were to lean over and give Nicholas a kiss, but he blinked, shivering, and let it pass. The last thing he wanted was a black eye—especially not from Nicholas. Mostly what Danny wanted was to curl up for a nap and a nice, drunken cuddle. _Especially_ from Nicholas.

"I can show you how," he said, getting up, and cursed himself every step of the way.

*****

If there was anything Nicholas had to face up to, it was that things simply hadn't been the _same_ without Danny by his side. Those long hours spent poring through the library's newspaper backlog had been _beyond_ tiring, and Nicholas suppressed a smile imagining what Danny's running commentary on the headlines might've been like. Given his commentary on each fact and piece of evidence that Nicholas tossed his way verbally, it would've been beyond _amusing_. The thought of them getting kicked out of the library killed the smile's chances pretty quickly. _You'd never live it down_.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Danny asked, lapping at what was left of his Cornetto.

"The library," Nicholas said, absently taking a bite of what was left of his own. "It was dreadful. You'd have livened the place up a bit."

"Aw, thanks," Danny said, his mouth full of sugar-cone and vanilla ice cream. "I used to hide out under those tables in when I was a kid. Mum liked to go through old newspapers, too. Research, she called it. Gettin' ideas for the next year and all."

"Surely she'd want to give the judges something fresh?" Nicholas asked.

Danny shrugged, finally swallowing. "It's that whole _homage_ idea, you know. It's kind of a theme around here. You want to be fresh, sure, but there's nothing like the classics. Say, have you ever seen _good_ Shakespeare? I bet London theatre is ace."

"The RSC has put on some very fine productions in recent years," Nicholas pointed out. "Surely Stratford is closer and more Sandford's speed?"

"Ain't never been there," said Danny, sighing. "I'd _like_ to go."

"Then we'll go," Nicholas said, before he could think about what was coming out of his mouth. "Sometime," he amended quickly. "When all this nonsense is over with."

Danny was looking at him with that soft, contented smile he got when Nicholas did something to make him happy. It happened far more often than Nicholas was comfortable with, and far, _far_ more often than he actually deserved.

"I'd like to see _Romeo and Juliet_ done right, for starters."

 _So would I_ , Nicholas thought, and stared at his hands folded tensely in his lap.

*****

The options scrolling by were tougher this time, and the warmth of Nicholas's hands still lingered on Danny's shoulders where they'd clasped him so urgently a few seconds before. And just like _that_ , Nicholas was gone, leaving Danny to stare at an unconscious Lurch and a shattered peace lily. Sickened, he wondered if any of the blood was Nicholas's.

The abandoned walkie-talkie flickered to life in a burst of static.

"Michael? _Michael_? Give me your progress, dammit! We're _waiting_."

Danny knew that voice, and he'd grown to mistrust it just as much as Nicholas had.

 _Where_ they were waiting, he wasn't exactly sure—but it probably wouldn't take much time to find out. Wherever _they_ were, that's where Nicholas was heading, and it could only mean trouble for him. The thought of Nicholas coming to further harm pulled the knots in Danny's stomach even tighter. There _were_ worse things than being knifed in the hand.

 _Like getting lured into a trap_ , Danny thought, his mind spinning. _Like getting cornered by a dozen mad, obsessed pensioners. Like getting chased. Like getting run out of town._ Danny swallowed, turning to dash out the door. _Like losing a loved one_.

The walkie-talkie crackled again, as if clearing its throat.

"Danny? Danny, son, _listen_ to me. You'd better come to the castle at once."

Whether it was the thought of Nicholas in danger or the concern in his father's voice that spurred him into action, Danny wasn't sure. He ran as he'd never run before in his _life_.

*****

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, which was the last thing that Nicholas wanted. The ambulance wouldn't get there quickly enough, and the police—

Well. They _were_ the police, and what good could they do for themselves?

Danny was a mess, all ashen skin and blood-spattered, dust-covered horror. Nicholas alternated helplessly between holding his hand too tightly and not tightly enough. Could he feel it? Could he feel _anything_? Was Nicholas, as usual, more harm than help?

"It's going to be all right. _Everything's_ going to be all right," he repeated for the hundredth time. "It's _got_ to be."

If he thought about every other time that things had seemed to be moving in slow motion, they were much happier ones that had involved Danny being his old conscious, cheerful self and looking Nicholas affectionately in the eye. No, not affectionately. To put it that way was insulting to Danny—and, perhaps, to both of them. The looks Danny used to turn on him were nothing short of _loving_.

Danny's eyes were closed, his eyelashes dusted with a fine, gray cast.

"Danny, hold on," Nicholas pleaded, pressing Danny's limp fingers to his lips. " _Danny_."

*****

The flowers weren't peace lilies—or even lilies, _period_ —but they _were_ beautiful, and they _would_ do. Danny set them on his mother's grave and took a step back, studying the effect of the arrangement lying there on the grass. Nicholas had a good eye when it came to colors, and he had a fine sense of dignity, too. His arm was already around Danny's shoulders, warm and reassuring. At least Danny didn't have to worry about getting punched anymore. Maybe he should've jumped in front of a bullet sooner.

"Dad's probably _right_ put out," Danny sighed. "What with bein' in prison on such an important day."

"Your mother will understand," Nicholas said. After all that time, he was still kind of awkward when it came to emotional stuff, bless him. "I'm _sure_ she will."

"Yeah, she'll understand he _deserves_ it," said Danny, grimacing. He turned his head to look at Nicholas, letting the distress wash over him. "You didn't have to do this. We could've let it till after work."

"And then it would've been dark," Nicholas pointed out, half smiling, giving him a dubious look. His arm around Danny's shoulders tightened, drawing him in closer. Even though they weren't drunk, it felt nice. Nicer than Danny had imagined it would be.

"I don't know, darkness is useful. You wouldn't have seen me crying, for one."

"But you're not— _oh_. No tears, now, Danny. Your mum's...right proud."

"It's not that," said Danny, uselessly. "It's _everything_. And mostly it's _you_ , if you'd like to know the truth. Why'd you have to come back for me? Why didn't you go back to London? They'd have put you back to work where you belong, and—"

Danny's memory of Nicholas's lips pressed to his knuckles was faint, but it was present. And it was _nothing_ in comparison to Nicholas's lips pressed against his, soft and chaste and uncertain. Danny blinked at Nicholas as he pulled away, both confused _and_ grateful.

"Now, there'll be no talk of that. Says who I'm _not_ where I belong?" Nicholas was redder in the face than Danny had ever seen him, redder than even a proper sunburn. Which Nicholas got in the summers, he'd learned by now, if he didn't cover up.

Danny wanted to kiss Nicholas back, only this time _not_ so soft and chaste and uncertain. But part of him thought his mum wouldn't stand for it, so he tugged Nicholas in the direction of the car and said, quietly, "Why don't you come 'round tonight?"

By way of reply, Nicholas smiled at him, and it was brighter than even those yellow roses.

*****

It took Nicholas _less_ than ten seconds to process this piece of information: if he'd taken any longer, he was sure Danny would've punched him. Instead, Danny's hands balled into fists at the nape of Nicholas's neck as he gasped, softly, and thrust up against Nicholas's thigh. _Goldfinger_ , it would seem, could go hang—and with excellent reason.

Nicholas was certain that Danny's old sofa might not be the best place to engage in intimate relations, but Nicholas's shirt was already unbuttoned and Danny's trousers were already undone. In a few seconds' time Nicholas knew they'd be kissing again—deeply and _shamelessly_ , nothing like that morning's reticence—and Danny would be well on the way to coming. The thought sent a wild tremor down Nicholas's spine, and the feeling caught in his throat. Danny's name escaped him on a pleading groan.

"I know," Danny managed, or something that sounded a lot like it. He drew one hand down from Nicholas's shoulder, wormed it in between them, and had Nicholas free of both trousers _and_ pants in less than thirty seconds. And then there was nothing to think about except how simultaneously embarrassing and _exciting_ the whole situation was. Nicholas hadn't even done this as a teenager. Briefly, he wondered if Danny had, and then put the thought out of his mind. Danny's cock brushed his hipbone and then burned against his belly, desperate. Nothing in the _world_ but this: he swallowed Danny's groans in order to stifle his own. It didn't work, but Danny didn't seem to mind.

They lasted longer than Nicholas had expected they would. Between his rampant anxiety and Danny's eagerness to please, it wasn't until they'd soothed each other down to this rhythm—steady, _sure_ —that they let go. And it was _beyond_ satisfying.

Much later, after microwaved dinners and one too many tubs of Chunky Monkey smuggled out of the makeshift station's staff-room fridge, Nicholas pondered the implications of it all while Danny snored blissfully into the curve of his neck. He'd been doomed from the start, he supposed, what with all the familiarity and constantly giving in to temptation.

It was _Danny_ he'd grown to love, and that was worth any number of perils.


End file.
